Things Not Grown on Trees
by Acciodoublestuffed
Summary: Rumpelstiltskin's most common of deals prsents difficult repercussions for his new housekeeper. Rumpelstiltskin/Belle. Mid-Skin Deep
1. Things Not Grown on Trees

Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time. If I did there wouldn't be a two-week break. Bloody hell.

Summary: Rumpelstiltskin's most common of deals presents difficult repercussions for his new housekeeper. Belle/Rumpelstiltskin. Mid-1.12: Skin Deep

* * *

><p>When he came home after one of his extended absences, his request shocked Belle, "You can't ask me to do that."<p>

"I'm sure you'll find that I _can_." Rumpelstiltskin raised his eyebrows, "and am. Now, if you would be so kind as to do as I say and _take it_." He held up the bundle, but the woman before him took a step backward. He growled lightly. "I tire of this," he said, rolling his eyes. "You'll make me resort to forcing you, and that's something neither of us wants." Still the woman made no reply. "Fine, if you don't take it, I'll drop it."

That elicited a reaction at last, "You—you wouldn't." She paused, unsure of herself in that moment, "would you? It's one of your deals. You need it in—"

"Working order?"

"_Alive_."

He chuckled, "rest assured, it would be alive. Perhaps a bit… _chipped_, like my teacup, you could say, but still perfectly good _merchandise._" Finally, giving her one of his most wicked grins, he began to lower his arms.

"_No!_" Belle yelled. She reached out and took the bundle, infant and all, into her arms. She began to bounce in her step just a little, for the tiny creature had begun to mewl softly, presumably from the abrupt jostling.

The imp clapped his hands together. "Splendid. I'm off to bed, and I'm not to be disturbed."

"Wait," she called, and he paused, looking back, clearly unhappy to have been halted, "I don't know what to do."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage somehow, dearie."

* * *

><p>It wasn't uncommon for him to have some time between the collection date—always a tricky one, that, what with children having a way of working against any and all predetermined plans, and birth was by no means an exception—and the delivery date, which was whenever the happy parents-to-be finally agreed to his terms. They always came around, with time. After all, children didn't grow on trees.<p>

However, it's the first time that he hasn't had to care for the child himself.

Rumpelstiltskin thought that this change would please him. Strangely, though, he found himself shadowing the girl and babe about the castle, just always out of sight.

He made it easy on her. The necessary items appeared when needed (or perhaps only after a _tiny_, hardly-maddening, delay), and she took to child-care like a hooked fish, that when found to be too small is tossed back, swimming away despite the pain in its throat.

He stood in the shadows and listened to her hum the child to sleep in the rocking chair that had materialized in the pre-dawn light, when the thing wouldn't stop its _bloody wailing_ and he knew she must have been so tired.

He hid in the corner and watched as she fed the child in the late afternoon (milk purchased for a minimal price from the local wet nurse), standing by the kitchen window. She, and the child too, he supposed, glowed in the fading light.

He used his magic to watch as she bathed the child, barely catching himself when he almost laughed with her as the babe delighted in splashing in the water.

He found her asleep, sitting against the crib in the wee hours. Taking pity on her, he picked up the lady of his house and carried her to the small bed across the room, as easily as if she were the child he'd procured through his dealings—_hadn't he though?_—she's only a little weight, and after all, he could watch over the bastard infant for just one night.

The entire process brought back memories he thought had been spun away long ago. Memories filled with miniscule clothing, the taking of turns, two souls now lost to him, and of course, infant sounds.

That was one of the reasons why he had gotten a housekeep in the first place, to take care of the children between his deals so he wouldn't be bothered, and here he was _bothered still_ and reminiscent as ever. At least this time it wasn't a bloody man-child.

He was gone by the time she awoke, while the baby slept on peacefully. Neither does she see him at dinner that night—he had thought it best to skip out on family dinnertime, if it was all the same.

He kept up the concealment for three days, before he caved.

He thought to himself that he'd only take a quick peek, make sure she hadn't killed the brat. Can't be dealing in half-starved, gutter ratlings; it just made for bad business.

But when he saw her, he couldn't seem to leave. She was peering longingly down at the crib, the babe sound asleep. He was suddenly right behind her shoulder. She did not even feel his presence, until he whispered in her ear, "_don't get too attached_, _dearie_."

* * *

><p>He heard her the next day, speaking to the thing.<p>

"I wanted to have children, you know." He saw that she was in the rocking chair again, but that she had moved it next to the window. The child gurgled as she bottle-fed it. "Yes, I did, very much when I was little. I wanted a girl, just like you."

Belle sighed. "But now I do not think…" she began, but stopped herself. "No. I must be honest. If you learn anything from me at all, it should be that honesty is a step in the direction of bravery—but now, I will not have children. It makes me sad." She smiled down at the babe, "but I have gotten to care for you. Whatever would I name you, were you mine? I know not from where you come. What's more, I should _not_ name you, for that is not my right and it will hurt all the more when you go to your family."

She looked out the window, to the snow capped peaks outside. "Your family will love you. I'll make him promise. Oh, there's no need to be afraid. He's much softer than he seems. Anyway, I always wanted to name my daughter Elise, but that was so long ago." She looked down at the child, taking the bottle from her tiny mouth. "All finished?" She raised the child onto her shoulder and began to pat the impressively small back.

Rumpelstiltskin decided long past time to leave. As he walked away however, he heard her voice singing the babe a cradle song. Her _surprisingly_ soprano voice rang out following him into the hallways. "Goodnight, my angle. Now it's time to dream, and dream how wonderful your life will be." He scoffed, _apt choice, dearie_.

Belle sang on, "Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby, then in your heart there will always be a part of me."

* * *

><p>"It's time, my dear."<p>

She cried, of course, but did not fight him. She simply slipped the tightly-wrapped bundle into his arms (the touch affected him, and he remembered the last time a woman in his home had passed off a babe. Though neither he nor the child had been the one leaving). He made a little bow. "Good girl," he said and turned to leave.

"Is it a good family, at least?"

He did not lie to her. "So it would seem, but one cannot always tell."

"And what was price?"

"You need not worry your head about that." He answered sharply, leaving the rest—_it's none of your concern—_unsaid. She heard it all the same. However, upon second though, he added, "It's not for ill, if you must know."

She nodded. "I hope they take care of… your gift."

"As do I."

* * *

><p>He passed the child first to the newly made Da, who then gave it on to his watery-eyed wife <em>(people of the sea generally have trouble with human conception).<em> He bowed to the nobility and walked to the door, but the woman's voice stopped him. "Thank you, imp."

Without turning back, he said, "You shall treat the child well, or I shall know and there will be consequences." With that last, he did turn back. "Oh, and one last thing, the child is named: _Elise_."

* * *

><p>Note: The Lullaby is "Goodnight, My Angel"<p> 


	2. To Feed Armies

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. The Juniper Tree is not mine... nor is it the Brother's Grimm... they just collected it.

**Summary: **Whether children or armies, it's all the same, Belle thinks. It's the second child Rumpelstiltskin has brought to her. Follow-up to Things Not Grown on Trees.

**Prompts:  
><strong>**Rumbelle Special Attack Prompt: **Belle Deals with Mood Swings (only three weeks late… whatever)  
><strong>Marchie: <strong>"One can't sleep, the other one helps" (but also works for her joke prompt of "BABIES, BABIES, BABIES!"

* * *

><p>In the dark castle, Belle thinks oddly enough of her mother, and often at that. Though she's slight enough memories. She has two to be exact, the first being the memory of her mother waiting out one of Belle's few and far between tantrums. The woman had simply stood by, as Belle had thrashed about on the stone floor, over some forgotten woe. When the little princess had tired, her queen mother had said—and this Belle remembered quite clearly—if you're quite finished, I'd be happy to dry your tears, if you'll act like a big girl and tell me just exactly why you're so distraught.<p>

The second memory Belle has is of falling asleep on her mother's lap, the feeling of her mother's hands in her hair.

It was strange to her to spend so much time thinking on a woman she'd hardly known, but she couldn't stop. Her mother had been from a rather unexceptional background, the daughter of two court families of average name and status. However the woman had made an exceptional queen, decisive and regal in bearing. From what Belle had been told, her mother had ordered about servants and courtiers, armies, and even her father, the king, before dying all too young. The queen left a husband lacking a tactical mind and daughter with two bone-thin memories and an outdated gold necklace by which to remember her.

Belle had always wondered over the necklace's origin, but none had known from where her mother had gotten the thing. That afternoon, the princess sits sitting on the kitchen stool, thinking over asking her master to take a look at the piece, peeling potatoes, when the employer in question enters silently. "Expecting an army tonight, dearie?"

She jumps, dropping the slippery potato, as well as her knife, just grazing her thumb. She looks it over, but she's not drawn blood.

Rumpelstiltskin giggles, "Didn't startle you, did I, dearie?

"'Course you did," Belle says, grabbing the dropped potato off the floor. Rubbing it off with her dirty apron, she tosses it into the bucket with the rest. "What about an army?"

"I asked if you were expecting one—for you've certainly enough potatoes to feed one."

She looks down at the bucket. Oh, right. Guess she'd gotten carried away. Well she supposes they would be having potato dishes for a few days. Belle ticks off all the ways she knows to prepare them: baked, mashed, soup, shepherd's pie. Belle tries to keep the look of frustration off her face; she hates when Rumpelstiltskin gets the best of her. Not to mention, it's the first she's seen him in two days.

"Never bad to plan ahead. Don't you think?" Belle looks up and sees that he's a child on his hip. "Oh—" Then, she groans. "Lord, not again."

He smiles wickedly, "Quite."

She stands wiping her hands and sets the knife an appropriate distance from the edge—for now she'd little hands to consider. She steps forward tentatively to get a better look at the babe—who isn't really a babe, perhaps a year or two old from the look of things, and it's a _he_. "A bit older than the last one."

"Yes, tragedy has a tendency to strike at any age." The boy child has golden curls and large, chocolate eyes. His nose and cheeks are red, and his eyes watery. He's been crying, but he's curled a little fist around Rumpelstiltskin's neck. Lastly, his little thumb sports dried spit, Belle notes, "Ah, he sucks at his thumb."

The imp eyes her oddly. "Indeed, how observant of you."

"We'll have to fix that." She reaches out her arms at the little cherub, who watches her. The child does not reach for her, but neither does he cry when she takes him. He's sticky with sleep-sweat, his fine clothes damp and wrinkled. "What's his name?" she asks, brushing wet curls away from his face.

He paces around her with his general theatricality, but his audience is unaware—all eyes on the little thing he's brought home. "Oughtn't do that dearie; you're just for the in-between."

Belle holds in a smile at his slip of the tongue. It's the first she's heard him refer to them as _we_, something of a pair. She works up her irritation and asks, "What am I to call him, with no name?"

"He's of noble birth. That's all you need know. Call him what you will, but no names." He waggles a finger in front of her nose—as if she is the child.

"Because names have power," she whispers more to herself than him, but the statement unsettles Rumpelstiltskin. He spares a glance at her peering knife on the counter, but finds it run-of-the-mill. A good thing, that. "You know what to do. Keep him fed, and he'll be off and away before you know it."

"Will I see you at dinner, or can I expect you to go into hiding, like last time?" she asks.

He turns in the doorway and the sight of a woman, man-child in arms, is almost too much, even with the off-coloring of both parties. "I wouldn't hold my breathe, dearie."

* * *

><p>After turning the child over to his housekeeper, Rumpelstiltskin gives them both a wide berth.<p>

He had a tough time of it in the land he'd spirited the bastard child away from. The imp had arrived just in time, for the lady had been sharpening her knife and bringing the water to a boil.

The child had gone willingly enough. The thing had had a tough road, born a bastard. The country lord had replaced his bed warmer with a more cunning whore, however. She'd weaseled her way into the role of a proper wife, giving birth before grass had grown over the boy's mother's grave. The lady of the house had named the daughter Marlinchen. A rather fitting name for the creeping usurper, Rumpelstiltskin thought.

Suffice to say it, the boy would be better off with his new family. He had just the couple in mind. A youngish girl who longed ever so much for a son, and since her marriage at the ripe age of thirteen had for the past few years produced nothing more than half-made babes and tears. It was a common enough malady for young brides, such as she, and one that she would grow out of as soon as her hips widened, but the sire was growing impatient. So a son they shall have.

However, all of that didn't make it any easier to bear a bouncing boy under his rather large roof. He chronically skips dinner, opting to work on this potion and that poison. Finally he starts finding trays in the library with the note: _don't starve yourself. I still need someone to refill the pantry._

* * *

><p>It's been a while by the time Rumpelstiltskin goes to look for Belle. His favorite shirt needs mending. Though he's left it out for days, obviously enough, the girl has yet to take it from his chamber—an effort to smoke him out, he suspects.<p>

He goes first to the kitchen, followed by the great hall. After that he reconciles himself to looking in her room, a place he generally avoids—though that isn't to say he hasn't snooped around in the past.

He pops into the hallway where Belle resides, only to find the door open, but no caretaker. What he does find is significantly less satisfying.

The damn baby is curled up on her bed asleep.

At least if the brat is here, she can't be that far away. Rumpelstiltskin steps into the room fully (she'd gained a room a few days after her arrival—_I'm not sleeping in a dungeon. It's ridiculous, when you've hundreds of unused rooms, just sitting around collecting dust_). "Belle?"

No reply. He peeks his head into the attached washroom. Still no Belle.

"Oh, good. You've decided to come out of hiding."

He turns back and sees her standing in the doorway, barefoot, with her dress knotted up on either side. Peculiar.

Decidedly not odd is the fact that her legs are bare, for she wears no stockings today. That's anything _but _odd. Torturous more like. "So it would seem."

"Since you've finally decided to grace us with your presence, I need you to watch him for a bit. He'll be waking up soon from his nap."

"I think not, dearie." He points to her feet. "Misplaced your shoes and stockings?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, you will, and no, I haven't. I'm scrubbing the stairs and the entryway. Make sure he doesn't try to go down them until they dry, and that goes for you too!"

Belle steps in and grabs a large swath of cloth on the chest of drawers. As she moves he catches the nicest view of her _shapely_ calves. At the door she turns back, "Watch him, and I'll fix your shirt. Deal?"

He sighs, waving a hand, "I suppose."

Rumpelstiltskin crosses his arms over his chest. The audacity of her, leaving him to tend the thing. "Careful with that deal-making, dearie, needn't learn the hard way that there's always more to the fine print."

Well, if she was going to be like that, then he supposes he'd just have to make the best of it. "I suppose, I'll just have to have a look about your room." He says to himself, but in reply, he hears a child's gurgles. He looks to the bed, where he finds that the boy is sitting up, watching him. "Well, well, look who has finally decided to wake up."

The boy looks to and fro, presumably for his usual tender.

"She's not here; I know you'd rather her than I. That makes two of us."

The child is still watching him.

"You really ought to be more afraid of me. I wonder…"

He jumps toward the child, making a face. The boy remains unperturbed. No fun in that. "Not very bright are you?"

Rumpelstiltskin taps his foot, impatient and bored. Then he has an idea. He knows exactly how he is going to entertain himself. He walks over to Belle's armoire, "Let's see what's in here, shall we?"

He opens the closet and finds little to peak his interest. The few clothes he's procured for her, as well as the gown in which she'd arrived. No skeletons, sadly. He goes to the chest of drawers and starts sorting through, one by one. However, again they turn up nothing out of the ordinary. He turns back to the babe, peaking under the bed. Nothing. "Now, were would you hide all your secrets if you were living with a beast, hm?"

"The snuffbox in the false bottom of the stocking drawer," Belle yells flippantly, passing by, leaving a drippy trail in her wake.

Damn, he should have heard her. Bastard's fault. Unnerving him and all.

He reopens her stocking drawer and yes, there, a false bottom. He takes out the mildly ornate snuffbox that he doesn't remember owning, but knows had to have come from his collection. He opens it and is hit with the scent of pine.

The findings are shockingly scant.

He pulls out a number of dried flowers. He finds a few letters from her father, all ones he's already read through prior to her receiving them, as well as some scribblings he hasn't seen.

Intrigued he reads through them. They aren't love letters, as he'd been expecting.

_Good_, his mind says, though he's not sure why.

Rather, they are lines of verse. Some are copied from tomes he recognizes, popular verse of the day, and some are new. He wonders if she has written them herself, but a few lines reveal that to be likely.

_A child stolen off a hill,  
><em>_With the selling worth a mill…_

Yes, surely she's written that. Her hand is not as delicate as he had expected. He finds an embroidered handkerchief, as well as a ring he vaguely recalls her wearing. He wonders if it's from her _betrothed_.

"If you're done prying, you could go and set the table for dinner." Belle says. She's still barefoot, the bottom half of her tied-up dress, wet and sticking to her legs. She walks over to the bed and reaches to pick up the little blight. "That is if you're finished hiding."

The sight is no less painful; he ignores her question. Rumpelstiltskin quickly drops her things back into the box. "Why the need for the hidden drawer if you've nothing _scandalous_ to hide?"

"I like secrets. Not all of them are bad, you know." She sets the boy on the ground and starts untying her skirts, sadly covering up what precious little skin she'd been sporting. "So are you going to join us tonight?"

"I'll keep to myself, thank you." With that he leaves. He doesn't eat super, though she leaves some outside his door. He works until the wee hours, when a tapping at his window catches him by surprise. The letter is ironically born by a stork.

* * *

><p>In the night, Belle awakens at the sound of a crash, quickly followed by another, and another, and another. <em>They've finally come for us<em>, she thinks, and in her panic she doesn't even register that once again she has grouped herself and Rumpelstiltskin together in her mind.

The banging does not cease and her master must be gone (_or worse_) because he'd never let it go on, and this worries her most of all. Belle knows time is of the essence; she can't simply lie there and hope for the best. She hops out of bed and takes the still sleeping child in her arms. She slips a blanket around him and sets him in the bottom of her armoire. It's the best she can do with so little time.

Next she exits her room, locking her door behind her.

On the way to the great hall, for that's where the sounds seem to be stemming from, she grabs a sword off a suit of armor.

With silent feet she creeps through the halls, down the (freshly scrubbed, though it matters little now) stairs and to the door. It's not fully shut, a sliver of light streaming out. Slowly, she nudges it open, sword aloft. What she finds are not invaders as she expected, but something else entirely.

Rumpelstiltskin is destroying the room one piece of furniture at a time.

Belle is in shock at the sight. She's seen his tantrums before, but nothing of this _caliber_. He tosses his rather large chair to the fireplace, missing only by a few inches. She wonders if the aim was intentional. She drops the sword and yells, "Rumpelstiltskin."

At the sound of his name, he turns, face a picture of rage incarnate.

His eyes take her in, and Belle remembers that she's in nothing but her nightgown. However she makes no move to cover herself, instead saying, "What in the name of the gods are you doing?"

At her words, any calm her sudden appearance had bestowed is lost. He shakes his head and stalks to the dining table, overturning it with an angry mumble she can't make out. She jumps a little as it clatters on the floor.

"_Stop. Now._"

His head snaps to her. "Do _not _order me about, madam." He pushes over his chair at the head of the table and kicks out at the table for good measure.

"I at least deserve to know why you're raising hell at this ungodly hour." She puts her hands on her hips. She's seen men throw hissy fits before (though never this large) and he would not be getting the best of her tonight, or morning, whichever it was.

"You want to know what's wrong, aye?" He laughs, a frightening and dark sound, "Princess wants to know what's wrong." He stalks, or skips, to the fireplace and takes up the fire stoker. Belle does her best not to shake. However he skips over to the dining table. "I'll tell you what's wrong," Rumpelstiltskin begins to pummel the table, wood chunks flying, "The bitch is pregnant. _That's _what's wrong."

"What? Who are you talking about?"

He doesn't stop in trying to kill his table dead. "She's pregnant and doesn't want _any _part of the deal. Should have known."

Ah, Belle finally begins to realize what's truly at play here. "They don't want _him_, anymore," she says quietly.

"Right you are. Congratulations!" He waves the fire stoker in the air and gives her a mock bow before landing a handful more blows into his ruined table, each more violent than the last. "And now, I don't know what the hell to do with _it_!" At that he throws the metal tool down and begins to pace, fisting his hands in his tangled hair.

Belle takes a few steps, but before she can bring herself close enough, Rumpelstiltskin has unleashed himself on the pedestals at the far end of the hall. He knocks the over and throws the items they'd boasted against the wall. Belle does not move closer. "You'll find another… deal." She cringes as clock wines, springs flying forth.

He whips around to face her, "_Another deal_, she says." He laughs that giggle; it's terrifying. "As if it's just that simple." He then goes to the cabinet and begins to toss the breakable items about the room—though, she notes, nowhere near her person.

Belle stands there, keeping an even breathing pattern, and thinks of her mother.

She stands and waits for him to exhaust the emotions that have nowhere else to go but the wall in the shattered pieces of the baubles he's collected. She lets his tantrum wash over her, and thinks of her dead mother's words of wisdom: _Children and generals, it's all the same—let them wear themselves out and move the breakables_.

Well, Belle thinks, at least she can do the first.

It's a long time before Rumpelstiltskin's arms and legs begin to tire; Belle's bare feet had gone cold sometime before. He's still muttering to himself when he sinks to the floor by the fire.

She goes to him. She sits close enough to touch, but not too close, he did after all just destroy the living room. She tucks her feet into her nightgown, giving him time to get used to her proximity. "Rumpelstiltskin," she says evenly, without emotion. "I don't understand why you are so upset. Please explain it to me."

The imp huffs, and for a moment Belle thinks he's going to start exploding again, but then he speaks the forced words slowly, "A new deal will take _time_."

Belle wants to ask a million questions, quickly, but holds back, not wanting to offset his precarious calm, "Why does that matter, exactly?"

"Don't you see," the words come through clenched teeth. "It could be," he sighs, fisting and un-fisting his hands (_not claws_, she thinks, _because what he's doing looks like what angry children with children's hands_). "Some time before it leaves."

"Weeks?"

He does not answer.

"Months?"

"Or longer."

Belle sighs. Yes, that would be a difficulty.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men,  
><em>_Could not find a manger for the baby to lie in._

She takes in a deep breath and lets it out. They could do this. They had to do this. "We'll manage."

The words catch his attention—specifically _we_.

"You'll have to let him go when the time comes." He says, and in his eyes, she notes concern. He was worried over how this would affect her.

"I can do it."

He nods and goes back to staring at the fire. Belle doesn't have to wonder what he sees, for there's a room upstairs full of child's things that she thinks he'd rather her not have found. This is difficult for the both of them, but they'd weather it.

After a few more moments of silence, she stands and looks around, deciding where to start. Belle first lifts up the chair next to the fireplace, then the rack of fire care items. After that, she finds him looking at her confused. "Come on then, I can't do it alone. Help me put it all back together."

She doesn't know what he'll do, but after only a few seconds, Rumpelstiltskin stands and starts to clean. They do much of it by hand, righting this trinket and that, but he uses magic on the broken relics and the wood he's turned to shards from the table.

Light is just beginning to come through the window, when Belle finally works up the courage to tell him. "I'm going to need a name."

He gives her a look and opens his mouth to protest, but she raises a hand. "Don't start. I am doing what I have to do, but you have to do your part also." He sighs, and she continues, "If he's to be here for longer, I have to call him something."

Rumpelstiltskin leans back against the newly reassembled table, nodding. "Juniper."

Belle frowns, "Strange name for a baby son."

He shrugs. "Don't ask me, dearie, apparently it was the last word his common mother spoke before bleeding out."

She nods. She'd asked for a name and gotten one. "One more thing: you have to come to dinners."

He gives her a frown. "And _why_ pray tell must I?"

"Because you're not the only one this is difficult for."

The words give him pause, but finally the imp waves his hand with a flourish, "I'll see what I can do."

Belle yawns and walks over to the window to take in the sunrise. She wonders how late she'll sleep in, and whether the child—_Juniper_—will let her. She jumps and turns at the sound of Rumpelstiltskin crying out, as if in pain.

She goes to him as he slumps into the chair. "What's wrong?"

He's breathing heavily and shaking a touch. "Me, apparently, _the godsdamnit_."

She looks at him with confusion, kneeling beside his chair. He looks at her and remembers the posture from the night he'd met her, only that it had been her father's throne she'd been kneeling before. However, the look of concern in her eyes softens him. What was to be lost from telling her anyway? "I attempted to peer into the _thing's_ future. Without luck, I might add."

"You—you can see the future."

"At times, I may be blessed with a _touch_ of foresight. But, like all magic it comes with a price." Pain, to be specific. Not a pound of flesh, but still.

Her look of concern does not ebb. Strange. "What did you see?"

"Nothing useful." Scrolls and war rooms and ladies tittering, but nothing so specific as a bloody dot on a map.

"Is there nothing to be done?"

"No, it'll pass." With time. It had been a stupid, insipid effort, shot too far with too little information to start with. He hears a bird outside. Oh good, another day. "You'd best get back to your charge."

Belle wants to correct him, tell him it's _their _charge, however she does not. Instead, she stands, and says though soft in voice giving no less strong an instruction, "See you at dinner."

* * *

><p>He's tired that night and sits slouching at the reassembled dinner table, which shines he notices. She must have polished it today, he imagines, finishing another glass of wine. She'd said he must to attend dinner. She hadn't said he must do so in sobriety.<p>

Rumpelstiltskin had done little that day, the attempt at prophecy sapping him of energy, and all for naught. He had paid for the smoky images with the power of his limbs, and for what? Images of soldiers at practice and scrolls in stacks, but not a bloody name of a city or royal line.

He's thinking over the girl-child that's finally likely to have a babe of her own, when he looks to the woman on his right, cutting up beef and potatoes for the little bastard. It suddenly shocks him that the woman of his house is nigh on twice as old as the _child_ who just reneged on a deal with him. "Belle," he says the name quietly. "Why didn't you ever marry?"

She doesn't look up from the child's plate, just out of reach of the baby on her lap. "I was engaged, you know that."

"I didn't ask if you were engaged." He tosses the fork he'd been toying with onto the half empty plate, making a racket. He did ever so much hate not being the center of attention. The sound finally draws her gaze. "Why didn't the two love birds tie the knot, as they say?"

"We didn't have the time, I suppose. Gaston had been on and off the front lines for years."

"If I know anything of men, and I do, you had time." He eyes her wickedly. "All's needed is a night, after all," he says, making her blush. "Twenty-seven, a little old, don't you think? Why ever not bearing children yet?"

The last causes her to scowl. "Twenty-eight."

"What?"

"I'm twenty-eight."

"Since when?"

"Since last week. Monday specifically."

Oh. His face falls, as she goes back to cutting meat. "You could have mentioned it."

"And spoiled your little bout? I didn't see the need."

Rumpelstiltskin feels that familiar twinge. He daren't even name it, for he _hates_ that feeling. It always signals more spinning to be done. In any event, he'd have to bring her something the next time he away-ed. "Well, twenty-eight then. A rather long time to put off matrimony and all that."

She sighs and looks to the ceiling, shrugging. "Oh, I don't know. I just wasn't in a hurry, I suppose." The little boy on her lap raises his chubby fists, gently knocking Belle on the chin. She laughs and jiggles him on her knee. "Moot point now."

He feels that twinge again and remembers his first thought at reading the girl-child's note of decline: the longer it's here, the more she'll come to care for it, and she won't be able to let it go.

He looks at her then, feeding the boy. She's young enough still. Young enough to be a mother, but in shame he looks away, for the woman on his right would _never_ be a mother. She would never be a mother because of him.

"You were alone, on your birth-date," he says. It's as close to an apology as he'll give and not for the reason his words state.

"I wasn't alone; I had this little one, remember?" She turns to the child, "Isn't that right, Juniper?"

Yes. Best to find a new deal quickly.

* * *

><p>"Can't you see I'm busy?" he says. He'd been reading runes and packing for his next round of searching for a barren woman with power and possession, when Belle had stomped in, sweaty and disheveled.<p>

And purple. Well, not entirely.

"Yes, and if you haven't noticed so am I." Belle stands, holding out the boy with purple hands and forearms—though really the color's more of an indigo, or mandragora even. Rumpelstiltskin notices a smudge on the child's nose.

"With what, painting?" She's caught him with his half-moon spectacles on, which is infuriating enough, and now asking him to watch the brat. Needless to say, he's not keen on cooperating.

Her eyes darken, and she scowls, "I'm making soap, thank you very much, and if I don't get back to it, I'll have to throw out the whole pot and start from scratch. It'll take twice as long, and then we'll be a week without soap. I know you'd be quite alright with that, but I'm _not_."

Ah, now it makes sense, for she's a sheen of sweat on her forehead, and her hair is curlier than usual from the steam of boiling lard. However, what he doesn't understand is how she doesn't smell of animal fat and ashes, but of flowers. Odd. Not to mention, he still has no idea what indigo arms has to do with soap-making. "Yes, but why are you _purple_?"

"Because I didn't know orchanet stains—would you just bloody take him?"

Rumpelstiltskin says nothing, but waves his hand dismissively. She sets the boy down and turns on her heel, leaving.

Once he knows she's well enough away, he answers, "I wouldn't be fine with it either, dearie." He looks down at the child, sucking on his vaguely tinted thumb. "Stop that. She'll know, and then we'll both be in trouble."

The child stares. The thumb does not budge.

"What's more, it'll ruin your mouth, and then who will take you?" All the same, he lets the child alone to find comfort in the habit. Not that the search was going any better. As it is, Rumpelstiltskin worries they have an extended house guest on their hands. "Hm? No ideas? 'Course not."

The babe remains sitting, seemingly content with staring down the demon. Rumpelstiltskin sighs, "Suit yourself." He goes back to measuring out a portion of devil's claw small enough to travel with.

Suddenly, a patch of yellow catches his eye.

Rumpelstiltskin looks up, his hands freezing—the babe's halfway up a stack of books, in the general altitude of the open window. "Oh no you don't," he says, racing to beat the child.

He grabs him about the waist, the boy squealing. "I know. I know, but no one gets away from me," he says, turning the boy around to look him in the eyes. "Couldn't just sit there, could you?" Rumpelstiltskin takes the grubby baby back to the table. With a snap, he vanishes the herbs he'd been portioning out and sets the child on the edge.

He watches the baby suck his thumb, eyes full of unshed tears. Weepy little thing.

Suddenly, Rumpelstiltskin has an idea.

He doesn't know why he didn't think of this sooner—that's the trouble with the boys. They unnerve him, can't think straight.

He pulls a vial from thin air, and holding against the boy's cheek, he catches a tear. He seals it, scratching a claw against the glass, causing an unpleasant sound. The boy doesn't protest the noise. "Not skittish, that I'll give you."

Next, he assesses the child's fair mien, running a thumb across his forehead. He leans in and takes a quick sniff of the boy's head.

Then Rumpelstiltskin takes the boy's right wrist, pulling it away from his mouth. There is some resistance. "I know, but it has to be this one, lad." He unclenches the baby's fist, rubbing his scaly thumb over the tiny lines. Palmistry is a tricky enough art, but with one so small there's little to be deduced. "Too early to tell—but a greater measure of intelligence, perhaps."

He takes the boy onto his hip and walks to the cabinet of herbs. "Let's see what you're made of, shall we?" He pulls three bottles and a bag of tea leaves out and goes back to his table. He summons the teapot from the kitchen, on the off chance Belle's used it recently. He's in luck, for it's still hot.

"Hope she hadn't been using this," Rumpelstiltskin says, smiling at the idea.

In two cups he mixes a brew of black tea leaves, with juniper and almond. He pours in the steaming water, and in the child's cup tops it off with the tear—no two futures alike, after all. He watches the tea steep and the boy suck his thumb, wondering if this is all for nothing. Tasseography, like the palm reading, isn't known for its reliability. However, it's less draining than trying to scry again.

After a few minutes, Rumpelstiltskin takes his own cup, finishing the near-burning liquid in a few gulps. Setting down the cup, he takes up the bastard's, swirling it three times and topping it with a saucer. He pulls the boy onto his hip and goes back over to the window. Rumpelstiltskin pours the excess liquid out the window, but retains the muck.

He overturns the cup and sets it on the ledge. Saucer, covered by leafy-remains, in hand, he says, "Let's have a look."

He spots the fox first, for cunning. That was expected. Hen and thimble, promising family—now to find them. "Ah, there." Rumpelstiltskin sees it: a tern. Likely to be a port city. That certainly narrows it down.

"What else, what else?" He turns the little plate this way and that, searching for further clues. "That's odd," he says, spotting three more symbols. A signet, scepter, and bishop.

But no crown. So not a prince then.

"Well, you'll proclamate and lead and play at war games, it seems, but not as a royal." He sets the plate down, satisfied as he'd ever be. "As parting words," Rumpelstiltskin says, for he had seen what may have been a rake, "I'd stay well away from Lippe and its princess. Do that and I daresay, you've a good chance at not turning into bones beneath your namesake before cutting first tooth."

The child's expression does not change.

"Now, about that thumb." He returns them to the table and uncorks the last jar.

The boy furrows his little brow as Rumpelstiltskin pulls the thumb out again. However, he does not cry this time. "Now don't look at me like that. You're no prince, and grand viziers and brigadier generals must be _striking_ to win over testy courts, along with the sharp minds." He dips the lad's thumb into the last jar, holding it there a few minutes. "You ought thank me for this, but I doubt you will."

Finally, the imp releases the boy's hand and vanishes the bottle. Immediately the thumb pops back into his mouth.

And goes right back out. Juniper starts to holler, _loudly_.

"Told you." The sound does not stop. "Cinchona tincture doesn't wash off either."

The wailing continues; Rumpelstiltskin _hates_ wailing. Rubbing the spot on his forehead where a headache is starting, he says, "Do be quiet, boy."

The bastard does not acquiesce.

He'd have to do this the hard way, apparently, for he still had one trick up his sleeve. He takes the child in both arms and tosses him in the air, then again, a little higher. Then again a little higher still.

The wails stop, and soon he's giggling. "You like that, eh? I thought so."

* * *

><p>At dinner that night, Belle is not surprised when Rumpelstiltskin says he will be going away for a while.<p>

Well, she _is _surprised, but only that he's deigned to mention it to her.

The two had come down to dinner looking all tucked and not the least disheveled, which was decidedly _not _how they'd looked a few hours ago when Belle passed by the library to scrub indigo and dried soap from her arms. She had finally finished with the soap, learning that watching the process take place and doing it were two _entirely_ different things. However, the finished product, she'd poured into molds to harden had been to her liking, blue from indigo and the ( _staining_ ) orchanet, scented with lavender. She'd even done a little batch with roses, for the baby.

After finishing, she had thought to give the little one his bath early, only to find Rumpelstiltskin _playing_ with Juniper, tossing him in the air. She crept away, deciding it best not to disturb the pair.

She knew then that the child would be leaving soon—her employer would never have let himself be that free otherwise.

"Is that so?" she asks.

Rumpelstiltskin does not answer. Belle continues to cut carrots into bite sizes for the little boy. Leaning down, she whispers in his ear, "Where ever could he be going, Juni, I wonder?"

They pass a few minutes in silence, the only sound being Belle's knife hitting against porcelain.

"Give me that." He abruptly pulls the plate out from under her knife and fork. "You've eaten cold meals for weeks. I'll feed it tonight."

Belle's dumbfounded. She's still staring at him and the plate, when as he reaches across for the boy, he taps the bottom of her chin. "That's not for catching flies, mind."

* * *

><p>It only takes two days.<p>

It's late, and Belle's sitting in front of the fire with a novel, Juniper asleep in her lap. Between pages she runs a hand through his blond curls.

Rumpelstiltskin at least gives her the decency of hearing him, popping into the hallway outside so as to enter the room manually.

She looks up expectantly. "So?"

As she waits for an answer, her eyes flicker down to the bundle on her lap. Does she know she's holding her breath, he wonders. "A deal's been made."

She nods, "When?"

"Now."

She blinks and opens her mouth, but he raises a hand. "It's a matter of some delicacy, and time is of the essence."

She sighs and sets the book aside. "Tell me of them."

"The chancellor and keeper of the seal to the king of Brysa. He and his wife have been away for sometime. Returning with a child would be no matter."

He can see she wants more, so he obliges her. "They've wanted for a child for many a year. The prince of the land's a fool in the making; someone will have to play steward in a few years—they'll raise him to move armies and write treaties in Latin, all while dancing and spouting verse, I'm sure."

Belle stands, smiling. The child doesn't wake.

"Not royalty, but it'll do, I suppose," Rumpelstiltskin mutters.

_They'll love him more than royals would. _

As he takes the child from her arms, she says, "I'll get my cloak."

"Whatever for?"

"I'm coming too."

This could be a problem, but she'd seemed so agreeable just moments ago. "I don't think that wise, dearie."

"Consider this my birthday present."

Rumpelstiltskin sighs. Clever girl. "Well if you must. Just be sure not to let your hood off."

* * *

><p>He whisks them away, an arm around both boons, and within the blink of an eye, they find themselves besides the cook's entrance of a crossroad's inn.<p>

Belle's head flits about, curious as ever. It's the first time she's been outside the dark castle, Rumpelstiltskin belatedly realizes.

_Perhaps this is all some trick to skirt you, _the Dark One cackles.

_Hush_, Rumpelstiltskin replies. All the same, he thinks, grabbing Belle's arm. "Here, take him." He passes her the still-sleeping baby and tugs on her hood, "And for godsake, I said keep that hood down."

He leads her not so gently through the back entrance and up a staircase to the let-ed rooms of the inn.

"So this is how you make your dramatic entrances, hm?"

"_Quiet_."

He pushes her flush against the wall, and peers around the corner.

Suddenly, Belle has déjà vu, hearing a line she recognizes.

"_My lord, I don't think he's coming."_

"_No, please we'll wait longer,"_ a female voice pleads.

"This sounds familiar," she whispers, but turns to see that Rumpelstiltskin is gone.

"_Doubting me so soon?" _

Belle rolls her eyes, hearing Rumpelstiltskin's voice around the corner. She's half tempted to just walk in and spoil his chicanery, but she doesn't, because this deal is bigger than seeing his face as she pulls the rug out from under him.

"_Leave us," _the voice sounds as if it's used to being obeyed. The lord in question, Belle assumes.

"_My lord."_ In her mind, she can see him performing his mocking bow. _"Forgive the tardiness."_

The woman's voice again, _"But where is our child? You said—" _

"_Yes, a deals a deal. Have you brought what I've asked for?"_

The lord answers, _"Yes, here."_ She can here sounds of rummaging.

"_Ah—"_ Rumpelstiltskin gives a giggle. _"Very good. Very good."_

"_Now trickster, our child,"_ the woman speaks again.

"_My wife is anxious,"_ the lord says.

"_Have some faith in me, dear lady."_ Belle hears Rumpelstiltskin snap his fingers, and suddenly she's standing in the room, a great fire and two would-be parent's standing before her.

The nobleman puts an arm protectively around his wife. She takes them in. They are well-dressed and fair. And lovely, though with too many wrinkles for their years, she thinks.

Yes, Juniper would fit in nicely to their portraits.

"My lord, my lady, here is the child, as promised."

The woman reaches out a hand, taking a step, but stops hesitant. She looks to the imp.

"By all means," Rumpelstiltskin gestures to his housekeeper, but there's something in his eye, that makes Belle wonder if he is unsure at this moment what she'll do.

_Do the brave thing. _

As the gentlewoman walks up, Belle takes a better look. Her eyes are sad, but they are sharp and bright. She does not look young, but young _enough_ for a child this size.

She reaches out her arms to Belle, but they shake. Belle presents the sleeping baby into them. The woman takes the child, pulling him into her chest. "_Thank you_."

Something in the way she looks at Belle makes her realize something. _Oh, she thinks I'm the mother. _

Belle wants to speak, to say something. To explain. Explain she would never give up her own child, but realizes it's not important. Instead, she tells the new mother, "He's Juniper."

The lady smiles and looks years younger. "Juniper," she whispers, rocking the child. "Thank you," she says again, eyes only on her son.

* * *

><p>Rumpelstiltskin is surprised; Belle does not cry when they leave. She may have sniffled, held back a sob or two, but arrives outside the inn intact. After he's helped her up the two steps and into the carriage, he does not follow. "I've some words with the coachman," he says off-handedly, shutting the door on her.<p>

When he returns, she's composed. Whether or not she's cried in the time he's given her, he knows not. He has a guess from looking at her red nose and puffy eyes, but he knows not.

He settles himself beside her and with a hand out the window motioning the driver, they are on their way. "They'll see us to the edge of the kingdom. It'll take a few hours, at least."

When the mighty lord offered his coach to take them to the border and he agreed, Rumpelstiltskin hardly knew why. He could have magic-ed them back with a snap. Who knows? Maybe he was tired, though a rough carriage ride would hardly help with that.

Or maybe the thought of the dark castle and how dark it would be at this time of night (_and empty_) gave him reason to accept the offer.

They've been riding in silence for little less than half an hour when Belle feels they are safe enough away to ask, "Who was he?"

"The bastard son of a lord, with a dead mother. Story hardly ever changes. You ought to know that," he says, but Belle keeps looking at him expectantly. He continues, "New lady of the house, wanted the fife for her own offspring. I was the last resort before the thing took a tumble and ended up on the cook's chopping board for potato stew."

"Turned over for his little brother. That's terrible."

"His sister. Half."

"No less terrible."

"Aye." They are silent again, but on a whim, Rumpelstiltskin adds, "It'll be hours before we make it to the edge. Try to sleep."

* * *

><p>Belle's been sliding off his shoulder every five minutes for the past hour, half-waking each time.<p>

Rumpelstiltskin feels the slide. Wait for it.

She throws her head back, this time, knocking him in the chin. "Sorry," she mumbles, drowsily into his sleeve, falling back asleep quickly.

"Enough of this," he sighs. He takes her by the shoulders and moves her so that her head is resting in his lap. There, he thinks, we'll both finally get some rest.

Then they hit a sharp bump in the road.

Belle jumps, pulling herself up. She looks around and starts to ask a question, "Where's—"

She stops abruptly—_remembering_—and starts to finally cry.

Rumpelstiltskin takes her again by the shoulders "Tut. Tut. It had to be done." He makes her lie again in his lap. "You'll forget, soon enough."

She cries against him for a while, all the emotions of the past weeks pouring out of her, as he awkwardly pets first her shoulder, and when that seems to help, or at least, certainly doesn't make it worse, he moves his hand to her head. Tentatively, Rumpelstiltskin moves the wet hair from her face.

Belle's breathing evens. "My mother used to do that."

His hand flies away.

"No, don't stop." She reaches up and takes his hand, dragging it from her brow, up past her crown, and back into her hair. "Like this."

She lets go, and he repeats the pattern hesitantly. He hears her release a breathe, a sigh perhaps.

"She used to put me to sleep like this." Another sigh. She mumbles one last sentence, "Remind me to ask you something tomorrow. 'Bout my mother." Then Belle stills, sleeping.

Rumpelstiltskin's hand doesn't stop.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The little boy is lifted from The Juniper Tree – thanks Grimm bros.

Thumb sucking, it's true what they say, it'll ruin your mouth. Game me TMJ. Had jaw surgery this past summer. A week's hospital stay and my head swelled up the size of a balloon… best decision of my life, but a better decision would have been NOT SUCKING MY THUMB!

Some of the plant and place notes:  
>Orchanet – another name for Alkanet. A purple flower used as dye in southern France<br>Cinchona – plant used to make quinine.  
>Lippe – a German city in Westphalia known for its gin distilled from Juniper<br>Brysa – a suburb of Carthage


	3. Pearl of Great Price

**Summary:** Rumpelstiltskin brings a baby of a different sort for his housekeeper to tend, and Belle learns a little more about the nature of monsters.

**Prompt:** Rumpelstiltskin has Venustrophobia (fear of beautiful women)  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Rumpel has somehow made a deal for a Mermaid bay. And Belle gets to take care of it.

Written to Sigur Ros - Sæglópur ("Lost at Sea")

* * *

><p>Two more children come and go. They do not have names; they do not need names. The memories of the formless, ageless faces leave Belle just as quickly as the babies themselves disappear with Rumpelstiltskin, off to only the gods knew where.<p>

She's growing braver, it seems.

Today is laundry day, and Belle likes laundry day. Since the weather's turned warm, she's spent such afternoons beating odd and magical stains from the strange clothing in which her master wraps himself (and she's had the thought more than once—wrappings like walls), and of course her own clothing, usually sullied with the more mundane animal grease or dirt from the gardens.

She sings without really thinking about it—comfortable enough to lose herself in the task, for little scares her these days—hanging the first batch of clothes to dry, but when she returns start in on the next bunch, Belle finds her largest wash basin missing, only soapy puddle left behind. "Rumpelstiltskin," she grumbles. This is some mischief of his, of course.

Sighing, she walks back to the kitchen to begin her search for her employer. At least, Belle thinks, she'll get the tea started, begin her search in the dining hall. However, she finds she needn't look that far.

Rumpelstiltskin sits on his haunches, in the middle of the cobbled, kitchen floor. He stares at a baby, sitting in her missing copper basin. He must have filled and moved it with magic, for it's a damned heavy thing when full. He swirls a finger in the barrel absent-mindedly.

Well, at least she needn't look further for her wash bucket. She approaches, rolling her eyes, "Well, that's where my washbasin went—"

That's when she realizes it's no babe Rumpelstiltskin has brought her, but a mermaid. "Oh my gods," she gasps, a hand going to her mouth.

"Ah, dearie, there you are. Hope you don't mind, but I borrowed this. Pressing business, you see." He gestures to the little boon. "Quite a precious, little thing, isn't she?"

Belle bends down alongside him, "This isn't funny."

"I don't know why you keep acting so surprised, dearie. You know what I do." He turns to look at her—she should know best of anyone just exactly what currency he trades in.

"People aren't _things_."

"She's not exactly a person, now is she?"

That is the moment the creature turns and casts its dark eyes on Belle.

She freezes, for the baby looks at her with an awareness she's never known before in a youth. She thinks of that child from the sporting troupe their court hosted one summer, though Belle found out it was no child at all, but a person with a child's body all their life. The tiny person had at first alarmed her, but they became fast friends soon after, the little person teaching Belle her cartwheels and somersaults.

Rumpelstiltskin snaps his finger between them, breaking the moment. "Now, now, enough of that, wee one. You're too small—don't even think about it," he says, pointing a finger in the baby mermaid's face. "What's more, this one's not at all like the other women you've encountered, dearie, but you'll learn that soon enough." He turns to a still-dazed Belle. "Captivating, eh?"

She gestures to the washbasin helplessly, as the little baby pats the water, paying no mind to the adults. "I don't know what to do with this."

He splashes a bit of water at his poor long-suffering housekeeper. "You're a smart woman; figure it out, dearie." Turning back to the basin, he says, "'Tis not so complicated. Isn't that right, little monster?"

At least I won't accidentally drown it,she thinks. "I'm going to need a bigger bathtub."

"No, you don't. The beastie doesn't require much. Wouldn't want her swimming away on us, now would we?"

Belle rolls her eyes at the joke. She looks over the child, it looks no older than a human baby of less than a year—though if it's the same for merfolk, she knows not. It is a beautiful being, she must admit, with pale, orange tufts of hair and a light green tail that catches the light from the kitchen windows. Upon closer inspection, Belle notes miniscule gills and scales skirting around the back of her ears. The baby tugs on her fin, oblivious to the appraisal, pulling it high. High enough to stick in her mouth and suck on it.

Ah, so not so very different, after all.

She laughs lightly, reaching a hand to smooth the baby's hair, but Rumpelstiltskin grabs her wrist tightly. "Careful, dearie. I'll warn you only once: she bites."

"Bites? She's not even with her milk teeth yet."

He release her wrist, shrugging. "Stranger things have been known to happen." He watches oddly thoughtful, as Belle proceeds—the hair is soft as any of Rumpelstiltskin's silk tunics.

The child looks up, letting go of her fin, instead sucking on her fist. "She's lovely." At the words, the baby looks at Belle again, and Belle wonders if she imagined that whole look of cognizance.

"They generally are." He stands. "Let's not bother with theatrics and you howling at me to give you a name. Let's just settle for something obvious. Call the precious sea monster Pearl, for she's shiny, hard to steal, and even harder to crack. What's more, she's worth ten times her weight in gold."

"Pearl," Belle repeats. "Good name."

"I'll leave you to it, dearie." He makes to leave, but at the door stops, "Belle, one last thing, no singing."

"No singing, but why?"

"Just trust me, dearie, under no circumstances are you to sing." He says the instruction like a half song himself, "No singing, no whistling, no humming. Not a tap of the toe, nor the drumming of a thumb."

He hops away, leaving Belle to wonder after his odd instruction.

* * *

><p>That evening, she hauls the significantly less full tub up the stairs and into her room. She'd have to logic out a better system if the baby girl was to stay overlong. Once Belle is relatively sure the little one's asleep—tiny air bubbles popping to the surface with the rise and fall of her little chest, the flutter of her gills only just visible behind her ears—she sneaks up to Rumpelstiltskin's tower laboratory.<p>

She's made no effort to keep quiet, but neither has she created a ruckus with some clumsiness or misstep. She stops outside the door, straightening her skirts before knocking.

"Enter," he says.

She slips in and frowns a little—though he's bent over his table, measuring out vials of only the gods knew what, glancing to and from an open tome on his desk, he doesn't wear his glasses. He isn't bespectacled; he has been expecting her.

He doesn't even look up. Gesturing in her direction, he says, "Stack by the door, dearie."

"What's by the door?"

"The books on mermaids you came to collect, of course."

She's surprised, but not terribly so. It's been months and now she has a better grasp of him and his eternal omniscience. "How did you know?"

"Because you're not as clever as you like to think yourself."

The remark rubs Belle the wrong way, so, though she knows he'd like her gone, she walks up to his table. "What are you going to do with her?"

He sighs, irritated by her prolonged presence. "Why trade her for something better, obviously. Have you learned nothing in all your time with me, dearie?"

"I know that, but why? And to who?"

Rumpelstiltskin sighs, his hands pausing. He pushes down the exasperation, answering calmly, "Why, because the merfolk don't take kindly to the loss of offspring."

"No one takes kindly to the loss of children."

"Yes, but merchildren are much harder gotten gains, dearie."

"Why is that?"

"Aren't we just full of questions today," he mutters to himself. "Most of the eggs don't survive."

"Eggs?"

He sighs, slipping the vials he'd been holding into stands on the table, turning to face her. "It's not like a liter of pups, dearie." She stares, still looking at him confused. "Oh the gods help us." He puts a hand to his head, the other he reaches toward a bookshelf, summoning one from the shelves. He passes it to Belle. "Here, read this."

"This is about fish."

"Yes, and merpeople have the same bits, at least where it matters. Read up." He waves a hand at her. "Now, off you go."

* * *

><p>Belle is, frankly disgusted. Human mating practices are unsettling enough on a bodily level as it is, but fish for some reason strike her as more so, but at least, now she knew.<p>

Most fish eggs were lost to larger prey before maturing to a decent size. She could only assume, from what Rumpelstiltskin said it was the same for merfolk.

She reads the more mermaid-specific books, looking every so often to the basin and the sleeping merchild. Every once in a while, the baby, _Pearl_, flicks her tail idly and without rhythm in her sleep; Belle wonders if mermaids dream.

* * *

><p>Rumpelstiltskin is going to kill her.<p>

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Pearl was only a baby, and the day so very lovely. It had started out normal enough.

Belle had decided upon a system for getting the mermaid around the castle. She'd strategically placed her basins in the major rooms and used a rather large, bucket barely filled in which to cart around the baby. After three days, her arms got over the initial soreness, and she's slowly getting better at not spilling so much water all about.

When outside the castle, Belle had a solution for that as well. The wheel barrel, she'd found, held water. It wasn't a particularly deep wheel barrel, when all was said and done, it only held enough for a splash, the baby's fins either sticking out the side or curled up, serpentine beneath herself.

Today, she had taken Pearl with her to pick apples from the orchard trees surrounding the estate's only lake. Rumpelstiltskin's lake is both unlike and alike any other body of water Belle had ever seen. Though clean and clear, it had the stillness and depth of a polished mirror (though she hasn't seen one of those in all her time at the Dark Castle). There's an air to the lake that screams enchantment, like much else on his lands.

But then a fish jumps out the water to catch a fly and the lake seems again like any other pond or moat she's ever seen, just a touch bigger. (She ignores how unnaturally fast the ripples even out).

It's a hot day and between carting the mermaid along and apple picking, Belle finds herself winded and sweating quickly. When the breeze picks up, she stops, resting for a few moments. She looks up at the blue clouds rolling over her master's lands and wonders if a storm builds.

She'd certainly have to get the baby inside—bodies of water and tall trees not the best place to weather a thunderstorm.

A whine from the wheel barrel draws her attention. She turns to the little mermaid, "We should probably go inside soon. I don't think he'll like it very much if you get struck by lightning."

The child pays her no mind. Instead squirming around, mewling softly at the confinement. Perhaps the lack of water, also, Belle thinks. Moved to pity, she walks over to the uncomfortable charge. The little thing cries futilely, wrestling this way and that. The cries turn to tiny, sobbing hiccups. She picks up the baby, holds it against her chest and bounces it softly. The small body is wet from the water in the barrel, as well as sweat from her fit. Baby Pearl accepts the maid's comforting, curling herself into Belle, chubby arms around her neck.

She wonders what ails the merchild, but then remembers the summer carriage rides to the summer manor. The air inside had always been hot and muggy, for it was unseemly for princesses to ride in open-air coaches. She remembers how her legs had ached by the long-awaited time of arrival. "You want room to move, to stretch, is that it?" She pulls back to look at the baby, "You want to swim?"

Their watery eyes are soft, filled with chalky tears, and Belle knows that feeling so well—needing to just move. Poor, thing. She cradles the child, taking in the Rumpelstiltskin's lake. This was certainly a problem she could solve. "Now how are we going to go about this, hm?"

She sets the merchild back into the barrel and starts to untie the laces on her bodice. Once free of the blue dress, petticoat, stockings and work boots, she takes up the now much more docile mermaid. "Under-things'll do, don't you think?" Baby in arms, she wades into the crystal lake. The water's cold, but not terribly so, for the day is warm and the air thick and hot with the coming rain. "You probably know this a lot better than I do. Not too many occasions to swim in the Southlands." Once chest high, she takes Pearl under her armpits and holds her out to give her freedom to float.

Belle takes a deep breathe and dives beneath with the baby Mermaid. She paddles a few feet with it, and suddenly, just as they reach the drop off, Pearl rebels. Arching back in Belle's arms, she dives deep, flapping her tail up and into the housekeeper's face. She disappears into the depths of the lake.

She tries to swim after, but has lost sight of the babe and needs air—badly. Gasping, she breaks the surface. She takes in gulps of air and dives back down, but her dress is heavy and she's no swimmer, and worst of all, the baby is nowhere to be seen.

Rumpelstiltskin is going to kill her, she thinks again, but he's the only answer.

Emerging from the lake a sopping mess, she's clad in chemise and pantaloons, but there's no time for thoughts to modesty. Belle calls his name once, twice, three times.

He appears in a pop without ceremony. "It goes without saying, that I was in the middle of something, dearie—" He takes her in, as well as the empty barrel. "What have you done?"

Her eyes dart to the lake, the ripples already a distant memory. "I—"

"Where is it?" He asks, but they both know he already knows exactly where it is. "Godsdammnit, don't tell me it's bloody in there." He points to the lake. "Seven fucking hells. Of course, you'd take the little loch monster for a quick dip. Fool of a girl," he says, unbuttoning his waistcoat. He looks at her, growling, "Well don't just stand there like an idiot," he points a toe at her. "Start in on the boots. Don't have all day. Bigger monsters might think it tasty."

She hurries forward and kneeling on the ground, starts unlacing Rumpelstiltskin's ridiculously complicated boots fast as her wet fingers will allow. Soon, he's bending at the waist, working on the second boot.

She finishes with the laces. "Alright, lift your foot—"

He pushes her back away from him, grasping for himself one and then the other, pulling off his knee-high shoes. She sits, where she fell on her backside, watching the Dark One stomp into his own lake. He wears only his leather breeches. She thinks not for the first time what a strange paradox that he should be so small and yet hold so much power. When waist high, he dives below, leaving Belle alone.

The wait is terrible and if a conflict rages, the glassy surface reveals no evidence.

Without warning, Rumpelstiltskin breaks into the air, the mermaid screaming in a pitch Belle has never heard before. He traipses to the shoreline angrily. He holds her at arm's length, and Pearl fights him the whole way.

He nearly hurls the thing down into Belle's arms, a scaly finger then going into his mouth. "Fucking monster bit me."

The child stills for Belle, but when Rumpelstiltskin approaches, the child rears forward, howling and barring teeth—_fangs_—unknown until then to the once-princess. Only the gods knew where she hid them inside her little head. The maid gasps, almost dropping her.

Her master wears an expression of total disdain and disgust. "Yes, I know you wanted to go for a swim, but you don't want to be eaten by my kraken, eh?" he sneers. He takes the mermaid by the chin, though she fights against it with all the strength in her miniscule body. He forces Pearl to look at him, snarling, "You bite her and I'll clip your tail, you little quim. I swear it by the gods of land and sea." He points a finger in her face. "Remember."

The mermaid snaps at him and Rumpelstiltskin pulls away, the back of his hand raised as if to strike the thing. Belle angles away from him, shielding the merchild, "No, don't."

Rumpelstiltskin, for all his hot rage, stills, chuckling dark and full of wicked thoughts. He takes the tip of her fin between finger and thumb, rubbing idly, "I ought to. I really ought to. You'll not be quick to forget my taste, will you, dearie?"

The child blinks in wide-eyed confusion, as if to say, "Who me? You can't possibly mean me."

Huffing, he looks over Belle, still on the ground, wary. "Get the chit inside. Storm's coming."

* * *

><p>For the rest of the day, she watches Pearl, wondering where her fangs went off to, but the baby looks all the part of an innocent.<p>

When Rumpelstiltskin knocks on her door after sundown, she's rather surprised. She'd been reading, sparing a wary glance to the mermaid every so often. He doesn't wait for her allowance to enter the room. "Is the little monster asleep?" he asks her, from where she sits in her window seat, books stacked around her.

"Yes, in the bathtub."

He scoffs. "'Course she is. Why ever wouldn't she be?" he sing-songs, making a mockery of his housekeeper.

He walks to the attached bathroom, and Belle stands following him. She watches him watch Pearl, "What are you doing?"

"You're too easily fooled by siren song. She appears to sleep but," he continues absent-mindedly, "appearances can be deceiving." He takes a vial from his pocket and tips it, allowing one drop to fall into the bathtub, before Belle can stop him.

Nothing happens, the mermaid still releasing little air bubbles from the gills every so often. "Ah, truly asleep then." He slips the bottle back into his jacket, "Pig's blood. Couldn't resist if truly of her senses."

Rumpelstiltskin slips past her, back into the bedroom. "No swim garb?" he asks, eyeing her fully dressed form when she follows him out the bathroom.

Belle blushes, but pushes past her mortification at her master's having seen her wet and in white, leaving little to the imagination, to ask him of the more pressing matter, "Why didn't you warn me?"

"I did warn you. You were just too foolish to take heed."

"I thought you'd been joking."

He waves her off, "I didn't think a more serious warning necessary. They're more docile when on land, out of their element and at an obvious disadvantage, and of course, she's quite young. However, the little blight's learning fast it would seem."

"What are you going to do with her?"

He sighs and toys with the post of her bed, intricately carved, though of common wood. "Return her to her own kind."

"But aren't they the ones who gave her up?"

"No, just her mother, and as I said before, merfolk don't take kindly to the trading of their own—especially if executed by one of their own. There are those, vengeful types, luckily for me, who will pay high piece for her return and the name of she who sold her." He chuckles darkly, "Especially if the name comes from a rival tribe, which it just so happens what I want belongs to just such a rival."

"Tribes? I don't understand."

"Don't you though? It's war, dearie—just because you walk on two legs doesn't mean you get along with every other such being, aye?" He walks past and toys with one of her—_his—_books. "Just so happens, our little Pearl's mother has pissed one too many times upstream of her southern cousins. They'll finally trade me child and name for what I've wanted for sometime."

"What do you want?" she asks, surprised that he's been so open—perhaps biting was the trick?

"Another tale, another time." He sniggers, "It is a fine one, though. Full of all the wickedness of this world."

Then, Belle tries to make her own fate, because she's thought on it all evening and decided Rumpelstiltskin's as likely to kill the baby as return it if left alone with Pearl for too long. "I want to go with you wherever you're taking her."

"Absolutely not." He snaps the book shut, "Best not to be distracted when dealing with their lot."

Belle blinks, "I wouldn't distract. I could help."

"You? Help? Clearly, you've not finished your reading. If you had, you'd know they don't take kindly to beauty, as well as the selling of their children." He walks over to her, and with the confidence of one who knows well his own inventory, he twirls a strand of her hair about his finger, "And you're much too pretty."

Belle can't help, but look disappointed. She has not left the dark castle since the night of giving away Juniper, and she's bored—and he stands much too close. She's nowhere to hide the few tears that come to her eyes.

Rumpelstiltskin brushes one away with his thumb, but suddenly he looks thoughtful. "Much too pretty, but perhaps…"

He leaves the sentence hanging, taking her face in his hands, turning it this way and that. "Perhaps a distraction is just what we need. Yes, yes, they'd never expect that."

Then, he steps away and just like that the spell is broken. Belle wonders just exactly what kind he's cast, and casting still, that leaves her silently reeling. "Read up, dearie." He exists, but at the door adds, "And no more swims for the sea monster."

* * *

><p>Belle watches, on her guard for the next few days, but the merbaby is as sweet and tame as new fallen snow. She comes close to forgetting what big teeth she has. Almost.<p>

She does not see Rumpelstiltskin at all, leaving meals for him in his room and in his tower. It's a common enough action of his, but what with their houseguest, she wonders just what exactly keeps him so busy.

He comes to her in the afternoon as she sits on the floor, polishing his sword collection in the armory. Pearl plays, splashing in a bucket nearby. "You sure this is really wise?"

She looks up startled, "Weapon cleaning? I won't cut myself."

"Not that." He gestures about the room, elegant and intricate swords on display all about. "All the sharp edges, you tease the poor creature." Belle opens her mouth to answer, but he cuts her off, "No matter. I've made a decision. You may accompany me on my journey to see her mermaid kin and deliver back their missing scourge."

She smiles at the exciting prospect. "When will we go?"

"Tomorrow, after teatime."

She nods. "I'll be ready."

"See that you are." He walks to a nearby display and runs his fingers along the engraved hilt. "Also, as an after thought," he begins, and she knows it's something to do with Pearl—for nothing with him is ever an after thought, it's all always connected. "You asked me sometime back about the origins of your mother's necklace. I believe I can offer you an answer."

It is true, after letting go of Juniper, she'd remembered to ask after her trifling heirloom. Her employer had not known any more than any of the others she'd asked in the past. It had all been rather anticlimactic.

That is, up until now.

A hand goes to cover the gold slip of jewelry. "I thought you said you didn't know."

"Aye, I didn't, but" he strolls over to her, hands behind his back. "If you give it to me, I think I can procure an answer with little enough trouble."

"Give it to you?" she asks, suspicious.

He nods, and his eyes are too gleeful.

"What need of you of my necklace?"

"Can't very well riddle out an answer without it, now can I?"

"But that's not why you want it."

He grumbles, leaning down into her personal space. "Didn't your father ever teach you not to shit on charity? It's just poor manners."

She takes a moment to look over the particular scabbard she'd been polishing before answering, voice even, "No, my father taught me to always read the fine print of a treaty before signing it."

"He should have taught you not to pick fights with beasts you can't handle, the idiot."

"Don't speak about my father that way," Belle snaps.

"I'll speak as I please. Dearie, you have two options." He pulls back, regaining some control and with it his theatricality. Pacing, he continues, "You can either save me the effort of taking it from you unawares by giving it to me, and in return I'll go to the trouble of ferreting out its origins, or I'll steal it and you'll get nothing out the bargain. Your choice."

She sighs, knowing despite all his talk of options and choices, her hands are tied, and though she shouldn't, truly, truly shouldn't, she trusts him to give back what he knows is of great value to her. She stands, putting the now clean weapon back in its proper place, before unclasping her mother's necklace, her only physical connection to the dead woman. She wants to beg him to be careful, but her pride and anger won't allow it. She stares him down as she offers up the gold necklace.

He takes it without dropping her gaze. "See. That wasn't so hard now, was it?" He crinkles his nose at her, "Until tomorrow then." He vanishes, leaving Belle with nothing but stolen swords and his two current pieces of live merchandise.

* * *

><p>Rumpelstiltskin is already in the dining hall when Belle arrives, though he does not spin. Instead he leans against the fireplace mantel. He looks up upon her entrance. "Ah, there you are." He watches as Belle struggles to lug the half-full bucket and baby into the center of the room. "And forgot the tea, I see."<p>

After setting the bucket down—it only splashes a few drops this time—she catches her breath. "Well, I couldn't very well carry both, could I?" she asks, exasperated by him.

He sighs, snapping his fingers bringing forth the tea service from the kitchen below. Pouring himself a glass, he asks, "Still determined to accompany me, are you?"

"Very determined."

He smirks. "I thought so." As he stirs his tea, he turns to her, eyebrow cocked. "Weren't thinking of wearing that, were you?"

Belle looks down at her usual garb, "I'm not about to wear what I wore last time," she says, uncomfortably.

"No, no. That wouldn't do at all." Rumpelstiltskin sets the cup down and walks over to her, "And neither will all these skirts. Too easily grasped." He reaches out a hand, toying with her expansive work dress. "Just need to decided upon the color."

From nowhere, he pulls two swatches of fabric, one a dark blue, the other a crimson red. He holds both at chest level. Turning to the mermaid, he asks, "Which do you think?"

The child makes no discernable answer, as far as Belle can tell.

Rumpelstiltskin nods, "Yes, that's what I thought also." He grins at her, turning his head this way and that. He takes a step back, raising a hand, "Now don't move. This won't hurt a bit." He twirls his wrist and a cloud of purple smoke surrounds Belle. When it fades, she finds that he has dressed her for the occasion.

She wears an unbound red tunic and a pair of cut-off breeches, both of which she almost recognizes from the wash, were it not for the fact that they look brand new.

"That's better," Rumpelstiltskin says, as he circles her critically.

Belle breathes a touch faster. She feels her chest heave all the more, for beneath the tunic, she feels that she wears a stomacher, which tightens and raises her breasts, the tops of which are visible in the open necked tunic. She feels more naked than she did at the lake. "Can't I have a tie, for your shirt?"

He hardly hears her, still walking round her, a hand to his chin. "Best not to have loose ends for the grabbing."

What he means she's no idea, but she knows she doesn't like it. Belle toys with the top of the shirt, trying to find a bit more modesty, when she notices her nails are painted, the same red as the shirt. She looks down, finding toes to match. Instead of her blue house shoes, he's dressed her in flat, leather sandals, chained to her ankles with dainty gold links. On three of her toes are tiny, ruby rings. She laughs at the lovely oddity, wiggling her toes to catch the light.

When she looks up, she finds that Rumpelstiltskin watches her. "Yes, this will do quite well." Waving a hand, he vanishes the tea things, leaving only the silver tray. He picks it up and holds it as a mirror. "Come, see for yourself."

She walks over and a hand goes to her hair, which has been freed from where she'd bound it this morning at her neck. Now it's loose and flowing, the only restraint being a single braid running from ear to ear, spun with golden twine—his thread—in each ear is single gold hoop, neither audacious, but quite visible.

Rumpelstiltskin hasn't stopped there, either. In the silver tray, she sees that her eyes are outlined with black, the lashes too.

"Kohl, none to be found in your Southlands, I think."

It's strange, but Belle can't say she dislikes it; certainly draws attention to her eyes. Her lips too, are darker than usual, almost the same color as the shirt, red as an apple she'd pick from his orchard.

She looks rich and wild and entirely feminine.

"What do you think?" he asks the mermaid. "Pretty enough to distract your sisters?"

Belle turns, and yes, the little baby stares at her the closest to the look she remembers from that first day.

Rumpelstiltskin chuckles, "Yes, you'll do, I think."

* * *

><p>When they arrive, the time between the blink of an eye and the echo of a heartbeat, Belle knows they are very far south, farther south than even her southlands, for the air is thick as any stew she could make and just about as wet.<p>

He's brought them to a just outside a cavern, rock formations jutting up and around them. They stand inside the mouth of a tunnel. The time is before sunset, so the stone is painted yellow and shadow, and with her shirt she blends right in. Strangely enough so does Pearl, all green and glittering.

Belle feels like her stew just before bringing it to a boil; Belle does not feel safe at all.

It is then that she hears it, possibly the most beautiful sound she's ever heard in all her twenty-eight years. She hears singing, a choir in tandem, though no words can be discerned.

Rumpelstiltskin snaps in her face, like that first day. He chuckles, "Yes, it has its appeal the first few times." He eyes the merchild, entranced as Belle and leaning forward in her hold, urging her bearer to move toward the sound. "Ah, that reminds me. How could I forget," he says, though Belle knows he never forgets. He brings his fingers together in prayer before pulling them apart to reveal Belle's mother's necklace. "Yours, I think." He leans in close, hooks it without needing to see the clasp, spinner's hands to the last.

He stands so close, face-to-face. Gently, he runs his hands from the front of her neck, below her ears, to the back, pulling her hair from out the chain. When he removes his hands, the necklace falls to its proper place against her skin.

Suddenly, Belle has the urge to shake her head, to clear it. She feels like she's had one too many a glasses of wine, that's finally worn off. She hears the singing in the distance, but the intoxicating nature of it is not nearly so present.

"There you are," he says, smiling, a hand cupping her cheek.

"That's why you didn't want me singing. It's an enchantment, isn't it, and my necklace, it wards against it?" A hand goes to the trinket.

"Precisely," he says without enthusiasm. "On all counts. Needn't teach the creature any faster to clutch at its natural inclinations."

Just as Belle notices how close Rumpelstiltskin still stands, Pearl flops her tail and wails, gyrating this way and that, trying to break free. The imp backs away, grimacing. "Yes, yes, like all women, just had to announce your entrance, didn't you?" He points a finger in Belle's face. "You're not to let her too near the water and don't let them touch you."

Belle, though rather regretting this choice, still feels her blood quicken with the intrigue of it all. She's always been a curious one.

"Follow me, not too close, now." He leads them around the curved-cave tunnel, and when it opens, they find themselves in a bit of a rocked-in lagoon, perhaps the size of two-thirds the lake at the Dark Castle, and from every ledge and overhand, as well as bobbing about in the water, mermaids loll singing, languidly.

Belle can't help but gasp. Rumpelstiltskin turns his head, under his breath growling, "Contain yourself." Just as they step out of the twilight shadows of the rock wall, he holds up a hand behind his back for Belle to stop. He continues on alone, stalking closer to the water's nearest edge. "Fine weather we're having, ladies. Don't you agree?"

If she was not so dumbfounded, she'd roll her eyes at his irreverent audacity.

All head's turn to him. The song stops immediately, and Pearl stills. Belle hardly contains a startled jump when a head breaks the surface at his feet. "I knew we hadn't seen the last of you, Rumpelstiltskin."

He gives a jester's courtly bow, low and mocking. "'Course not. You've still something I want."

The terrible queen—for she must be their queen, as all eyes follow her regal movements, full of power known and respect demanded—looks around Rumpelstiltskin's legs to Belle and baby Pearl. "Who's she? You know, we don't take lightly to intrusions and strangers."

"Oh, _her_. She's mine; you need not pay her any mind," he says the only words that could turn every single mermaid's attention to his beautiful bauble. "Let's stick to the topic at hand, shall we, Danae?"

The queen—Danae—looks back to him. She wears no adornment but a golden band around her forehead, the color of her hair, a single yellow diamond in the center—the same color, Belle notices, as her feral eyes. "Come to return to the water a little lost oyster shell, I see."

"Toss back one too small to bone and fry, yes."

The mermaid raises herself in the water with no apparent effort and appraises Rumpelstiltskin. Like almost all the other mermaids in the lagoon, she makes no effort to cover her breasts. She smirks, her perfect white teeth shining, they end in sharp tips, and surely must be chiseled. Belle had read of such practices in foreign lands, past the Levant, below and beyond Cathay, where men ride elephants bare back, but of course, she's never seen anything of its kind.

After a moment, she leans forward on the ledge, at Rumpelstiltskin's feet, laying her dainty head, meekly against an arm. "And to deal?" she asks, eyelashes batting, the side of her vulnerable neck exposed. Belle thinks of the day she met Rumpelstiltskin, how he batted away Gaston's sword like a fly—the two actions are so similar it's uncanny, in their confident arrogance.

He leans down on his haunches, resting his forearms on his leather-clad thighs. With a scaly finger, he strokes the mermaid's perfect cheek. "Always to deal."

She laughs like summer chimes, taking the princess' breath away. Her sisters, ageless daughters and mothers, all join in the joyous, gilded sound. At the impromptu interlude, tension (rich and frightening) breaks and all the merfolk relax. Belle thinks that even Rumpelstiltskin's posture eases. A few go back to lounging idly on the rocks or playing with their hair combs that look to have been carved from fish spines.

Danae reaches a hand up to cup his own cheek, then runs it down his neck, then artery, to finally rest on his chest, over his heart. "Well, it has been such a long time, _too long_," the mermaid coos.

"Ah, but whose fault is that, dearie? Not mine, of course."

"Still, a kiss of tribute to make amends?" she asks, tugging her bottom lip between her wicked teeth.

Rumpelstiltskin sing-songs, "I don't do fealty. You know that, vile creature."

She laughs, singularly this time. "Sore loser. I would have given in to your price below."

"Aye, and just after I'd stopped breathing." He takes her right wrist, and all the mermaids freeze Belle notices. He raises the hand to his mouth, kissing each of her knuckles. Scrunching his face in surly spite and sarcasm, he says, "Chieftess, as one liar and cheat to another, I greet thee—my own kind."

She pulls back her wrist. With a sour look, she rolls onto her back, reclining on the rocks, hair splayed, back arched, her chest exposed for all the world to see—it's all a private performance for Rumpelstiltskin's benefit, of course. "Let's see this little wayward sister then." However, the upside down chieftess locks her yellow eyes on Belle. After a moment she rolls back, right side up, leaning forward, hand in her chins. She asks, without forethought, "How did you find her?"

Rumpelstiltskin stands, "A-tut-tut. I'm not that stupid, dearie."

The mermaid raises an eyebrow, "Apparently not." She squints. "Northerner, I think. How old is she?"

"You'd know as well as I."

The chieftess raises a hand to her shade her eyes from sunset. They do not look at Pearl, but Belle, searing. "Are her teeth in yet?" she asks with a smirk, and holding Belle's blue eyes, raises her left arm to grasp around Rumpelstiltskin's calf. She lets her wrist catch the light, and the Southlands princess notes something wrapped around it, something shining.

She wears a bracelet of Rumpelstiltskin's spun gold.

Danae toys with the bootstraps of his right leg, the ones Belle herself untied not a week back in haste. "I think her teeth are in—she's the look of one who's tasted first blood," she says, smiling like a twelve year old innocent. "Now, how did one so young learn your secrets, Rumpelstiltskin?" she taunts.

"Same as all, because I lost my temper, I suppose."

"Never could control it, could you?"

"A little late to be learning now," he says with resignation.

"You _are_ getting old." The chieftess beams with glee before suddenly pushing off the rock and rolling back into the water head first, making nary a splash. Her tail, in the light, looks like a room full of Rumpelstiltskin's spinnings, before disappearing into the lagoon. There's something—_everything_—highly sensual about the motion, and Belle pushes down the urge to look away.

She surfaces at the largest free standing rock in the center of the water. She pulls herself up fully onto it, lying on her side, holding a silver, hand mirror face down against her hip. Danae lifts it to her face.

"Oh, dearie, you know how I feel about those."

She sniggers delicately, "Just wanted to fix myself, what with the company and all. Surely you must understand." The mermaid holds the item in one hand, slipping in a pair of earrings made of little arrowheads.

"Why you toy with those, when we've the same enemy, I've no idea."

"You know why, Rumpelstiltskin," she says, rolling his name on her tongue like pulled candies.

She looks at herself once more before lowering her hand and dropping the toy down into the lagoon. "There now, how do I look?"

"You know you look good enough to eat, I dare say."

She smiles. "Now on to business. I grow tired of entertaining for one too many." She glares in Belle's direction, though the housekeeper has said not a word the entire time. "The old request still stands, I assume?"

"You presume correctly, and it's no request—it's a fair trade, I think."

"Yes, and I hate those kind," she pouts. She takes her time answering, picking bits of seaweed out of her hair and from under the scales highest on her hip, then inspecting what she finds beneath her nails. "Too high a price. She was a great one."

"Yes, and she's dead."

The chieftess' eyes sharpen. "I don't have to pay your price."

"You forget I pay you a compliment in coming to you first, dearie. There are others who would want my boon, and what's more, would pay higher. I need not bother with you and your impertinence, should you prove as difficult as last time."

She laughs, "You're a liar."

"Try me. Midas perhaps, for he does love his oddities. She'd make a fine addition to his garden in a golden aquarium. His wife did die recently, after all."

"Death by statue, wasn't it?"

"Naturally, but I'm sure he'd be interested in the comforts a little merlass could offer in a few years"

"You wouldn't. I know you, Rumpelstiltskin. You wouldn't give her to anyone other than our kind."

"I just might." He shrugs his shoulders, mulling over his options, "Or, perhaps our dear friend. Rumor has it she's a feud brewing with your kin to the west. Think the price she would pay for a spy, or even one to loose her anger on from time to time."

The chieftess hisses teeth barred and dives into the water. It's many minutes before she returns. When she does, she looks half-human once again, angelic beauty and eyes of a demon. She swims over to his feet again, "Damn you, Rumpelstiltskin. Damn you to hell."

"Already been done, dearie." He chuckles, kneeling again. "So, do we have a deal? Tears of the last great queen of your kind for the return of your foundling kin?"

The chieftess looks thoughtful. Smiling, sweet and sinister, she says, "And a kiss."

He laughs darkly, but something in his shoulders reminds Belle of the nights when he comes in from the rain and grumbles at having to be outted his boots in the clean foyer, or perhaps that's just how she wants him to look. "It won't work, dearie. I'm not a man, remember?"

"All the same, I've always wondered." She offers up her wrist, wrapped in golden thread.

"Fine then." He pulls her waist high, so she rests the center of weight on the edge of the rock. The mermaid braces her body up with her right hand, while the other tangles in Rumpelstiltskin's hair, pulling his mouth to hers.

Belle can't help but watch. Her employer largely obscures the mermaid and their moment, but she can see that he lets the hand splayed on her back stray, a thumb brushing down the side of the mermaid's exposed breasts, whose tail flicks appreciatively. Suddenly, the golden woman's eyes open, catching Belle's in a sneer.

_It's just a trade. Just a deal_, Belle reminds herself. Rumpelstiltskin's shoulders tighten further, or perhaps she only imagines that.

"Look! Her blood rises to her cheeks."

At the sound Belle jumps and the couple part. All eyes in the lagoon are on her, and she feels herself blush all the more.

The source of the voice, a raven-haired mermaid with a water lily in her hair to Belle's left, speaks up, "There, she's doing it again."

The mermaid's pointed hand is only just out of reach—when did she come to stand so close to the edge? The creature too close for comfort leans forward to stare up at Belle unabashedly, leaning on her forearms. She can see that her tail is a wine-purple. Her voice sounds younger than the chieftess' when she asks, "Are they all like that?"

Belle takes a step back.

"Yes, Rumpelstiltskin," Danae asks the still-kneeling imp, "Do they all do that?"

"Didn't your great queen answer that question for you?" he says, calling the chieftess' authenticity into question.

The golden mermaid waves a hand carelessly, "Oh, that was so long ago. I can hardly be called upon to remember details like that. So, do they all make that color when caught peeping?" she asks glaring daggers at Belle.

He drags a hand up her chest to her chin, before standing, "Aye, they all do it, but none so particularly fine a shade as she."

"Is that why you keep her, Rumpelstiltskin?"

"She has many uses," he answers cryptically.

That makes Danae smirk, "Have you had a taste, Rumpelstiltskin. You could show us; I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Yes, but you must remember I'm not an exhibitionist dearie."

"And how much would you take for her? We'd make her last longer than most, I promise."

"Oh no, no, I've grander schemes for this one."

Danae laughs, "Come now, I'm sure we could come to some arrangement."

Rumpelstiltskin grabs her golden threaded wrist, and tosses her back into the lagoon. "Don't even think about it."

When she rises, she's smiling in earnest. "Oh, Rumpelstiltskin, you're more man than I thought, and growing old at that."

He sighs. "Your wicked mind makes your forgetful, Danae. Do you want the bastard thing or not?"

"Of course."

"Splendid," he says deadpan.

"Oh, I almost forgot," the chieftess says, and like her master, Belle knows it to be no after thought.

"What's that, dearie?"

"I want the name. How much?" Danae says, grinding the words.

"I thought you might. I've a project and could use some of those gems you keep locked away."

"No name is worth those."

"I know you've hundreds locked away down there. What's a handful, when I know you'll like what I'm going to tell you."

"Yes, but I know how much you want them."

"Then I guess neither of us will get everything we want today." He calls her bluff, waiting.

Finally, she asks flippant, "How many?"

"Oh, ten would suit my purpose, so double that, I think."

She sighs heavily, "Fine." She snaps, and three mermaids behind her dive down into the deep lagoon. "I still can't believe it."

"What?"

"Three hundred years and someone's finally found a way to lose a little of their depravity."

"Oh ho, fine word," he mocks. "Finally managed to keep those dictionaries from turning to morning mush down bellow, hm?"

"Soon," Danae says, frowning, "You're not the only magician who begs our audience, you know."

"Like one who would barter in such trifling spells would worry me," he says tiredly.

Suddenly, the two mermaids surface carrying a large satchel between them. The third carries a small bottle, which she hands to the chieftess before retreating. She gestures to the bag, taking out of an oyster shell. She cracks it open to reveal a large white pearl. "The name?"

"Ah, ah. You think this my first dealing with your kind? Be a dear and crack open one from the bottom of the bag."

Danae growls, turning to the two, she shoos them back beneath the water. "If you'd come for a swim you could see for yourself that they're from the proper treasury."

"That swim would last a bit longer than I'd like it to, I think."

"You won't always be this smart, Rumpelstiltskin." Licking her lips she says, "You're getting old and soft. Soon, you'll be well on your way to senile."

"Yes, and when that day comes I'll stay well away from the shoreline, I assure."

The two return with another bag, and Rumpelstiltskin takes it without further argument. "The traitorous bitch mother is called Tuinne of the North Marshes."

Danae smiles ear to ear, all fangs. "I was hoping you'd say it was her."

"Knew you'd like that. Gods' speed in your search." He holds out a hand, "Now, the rest of it."

"Yes, yes, tears of Antianeira, our crippler queen for the little sister without name." She looks to the mermaid next to Belle. "Moire, relieve Rumpelstiltskin's toy of what's ours."

"No. Don't touch her—" He turns, to see Belle standing too close to the edge, close enough for the red mermaid to grab her ankle.

Belle screams, but doesn't drop the baby. The mermaid hisses, grabbing the woman's forearm and pulling herself up. Pearl fights against Belle and in an instant, the mermaid's wrested her and pushing against Belle dives back into the lagoon with the baby kin, most of the mermaids follow suit.

The princess falls, but not all the way to the ground, Rumpelstiltskin catching her under the arm. He rights her quickly, stalking to chieftess. "Poor form, Danae. Give me the vial."

She cackles, and even that sound she finds a way to make beautiful. "Soft, like the underbelly of a salmon and just as appetizing." She tosses him the vial, which he catches with one hand. "Until next time, Rumpelstiltskin," she throws herself back, splashing both two on land.

Growling, he grabs Belle beneath the arm again and practically drags her out of the cove. Once hidden in the rock tunnel, he vanishes them back to the Dark Castle, water and all.

* * *

><p>Rumpelstiltskin hates getting wet. Leather and water just don't mix. What's more, though he got what he wanted, on the whole, the adventure had been too close for comfort.<p>

He had not meant to put her in that much danger.

He looks at his drenched housekeeper, who stands frowning at him. "What? Getting wet's to be expected."

"I can't believe gave her to _them_?" she almost yells.

He shakes his head, walking over to the fire, in an instant it's roaring. "Oh, don't look so betrayed."

"They're horrible. I can't—you always give them to _good _people."

"Good is a relative term." Rumpelstiltskin scoffs, "There are many darker places that would pay high indeed, brothels, sorcerers a-many. I've done her a mercy, though not the mother, when that clan's through with her."

Belle shakes her head, "They're monsters."

"They're what she _is_," he growls, wringing out the edges of his shirt.

"She might have been different, if only she'd been taught to not be so," Belle says quietly.

Rumpelstiltskin laughs. "Don't think yourself so high as to have been able to change a creature's nature. A monster's a monster no matter how hard you will it to be otherwise."

Ah, there. Too close again.

He kneels by the fire, dropping the bartered satchel. "You can teach a wolf to heel, but put it in a room with a bleeding babe and see how long the lesson lasts."

After a few moments, Belle joins him at the fireplace, "Are they all like that?"

"Yes, though they're one of the more malevolent packs, I'll give you that. The south has always had a stronger taste for blood."

"Why's that?"

"They're more creature than not, or maybe it's just all that sun. Hell if I know rightly." He points to wash basin left from that afternoon, "Fetch me the barrel." To be honest, he's unsettled. He'd overestimated his Belle, the necklace lacking in strength enough to fully guard her, and he's angry with himself for it.

Belle does as he bids. He pulls the barrel between them for utility, as well as distance, and begins to wash the clams of their salt and slime, before laying them in front of the fire to dry.

"What do you want the pearls for?"

"They've useful properties." He says, but knows she wants more information. "They ward against the enchantment. Why the bitches guard them so closely."

Belle nods. "One minute I was far away and the next I stood close. I don't know what happened."

"That's how it works, dearie."

"But I thought that's what my necklace was for?"

"Not strong enough apparently."

"What about the bottle, the tears?"

"They're quite rare. The dead queen wasn't always a mermaid, you see, and any being that's once been another knows secrets that neither it's components do. Homunculi have taboo wisdom, the likes of which the gods would rather keep to themselves. Does them little good and almost inevitably ends in tragedy."

Belle blinks. She'd not know that was possible. "She was changed, by magic?"

He nods.

"Did you do it, change her?"

"No, but neither can I say it gave me much pause—hardly a loss to the human race, that one. In any event, it was either Antianeira's tears or the once-unicorn's, which I'd have preferred, but that's a lost fucking cause in no small effort to an evil soul I know." When Belle stares wide-eyed, waiting for him to continue, he sighs, saying again, "Another tale, another time."

"She must have known many strange tales."

Rumpelstiltskin laughs, "Stories full of regrets, a mortal soul forced into that timeless body." His housekeeper looks at him sideways, "Oh yes, mermaids are quite long-lived creatures, if they can avoid the barb and keep from killing each other, that is."

Belle makes no response, staring into the fire and her tranquility surprises Rumpelstiltskin. Suddenly, he remembers he never asked her, "That bitch didn't bite you, did she?"

At his harsh words, she starts, "Oh, no. I'm fine. Just wet."

"Good." He didn't feel like going back and playing fisherman tonight.

"What would have happened?"

"Pain, but worse than that, a mermaid never forgets the taste of one she's bitten."

"What about P—the baby? She bit you."

"Aye, and she'd best not gain the chief's mantle—though Danae might just give it to her to spite me. Vain little shit would likely hold a vendetta against me over her once imprisonment." He shrugs, "It was worth the risk." Not to mention that by the time the little mermaid was grown enough to prove a problem he doubted he'd have much to worry over with her lot, not with his plans and his curse.

Plucking up one of the clams, he cracks it open with a nail. He pulls out the perfect iridescent pearl. "Give me one of your rings, dearie."

Belle sits, taking off the leather sandals before removing one of the dainty ruby toe rings. She passes it to Rumpelstiltskin, "Strange jewelry, but it was very pretty."

Before taking it, he plucks a bit of loose, gold thread from her hair. Then, taking the ring from her, he rolls his wrist, vanishing the ruby back to his storeroom and magically creating a large, pearl ring from the leftovers. "This should prove better protection, I believe."

She takes it and slips it on her right ring finger, "Thank you. It's lovely."

Rumpelstiltskin watches her look at the ring in the firelight. The woman is at the height of her beauty at twenty-eight, for after, human females tend to begin the sad, slow decline into age. She's captivating, the perfect distraction, even now with the smeared kohl under her eyes and the forehead wrinkles all the more prominent for the misadventure.

"You do blush a particularly fine shade," he says, before he can stop himself. Danae was right, he is getting senile.

Belle blushes deeper for the compliment. Changing the subject, she says, "We had a bargain I think. You promised to tell me where my mother's necklace comes from."

The information had been easy enough to procure. "It's a common trinket, traded up along the salt route, originally from the gold mines in the south. Bedouin gold. It bears the signature of a jeweler in Perth. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Belle nods, the answer more than she could have ever hoped for. She stands, determined to remember to look up Perth in his many atlases tomorrow. "Goodnight, thank you for taking me."

He does not answer, and after she leaves, stays digging out the rest of his bartered pearls from the soft bellies and skins of the magic clams before going to bed himself. That night, his dreams are full or water and red.

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

- Danae – Perseus mother, impregnated by Zeus in the form of a sunbeam  
>- Antianeira – an amazon queen who crippled her male slaves, saying the crippled "best perform the acts of love"<br>- Tuinne – from the half-human, half-salmon mermaid in Scottish mythology, called ceasg, or maighdean na tuinne "maid of the wave"


End file.
